Buried a Bone
by egyouppt
Summary: Maybe it was unlikely they became friends, but neither of them could deny that what they were-Pezberry drabbles showing varying degrees friendship.
1. I

**A/N:** _Okay so I've never really written Pezberry before, so please go easy on me, okay? I'd really appreciate your feedback. Thank youuuu!_

_disclaimer: Still working on the actually owning Glee part._

* * *

"Berry!" she hears someone call.

Rachel turns around as she closes her locker. "Santana," she replies. "Hi." She starts to ask if he (ex)Cheerio needs something, but she doesn't get the chance.

"Look," the taller girl starts. "I don't apologize often because, frankly, I don't feel the need to be sorry for being myself, but— " She shrugs. "I'm sorry."

Rachel stares, trying (and failing) to hide the smile breaking onto her face because it feels like the acceptance she's finally achieved today is enough to make her heart burst.

"And I'll do my best to only call you mean names every _other_ day from now on."

"But—"

"Baby steps, Berry. Don't get ahead of yourself."

She purses her lips, fingering the pendant at her throat. She still hasn't come up with anything to say, but it doesn't matter much because Santana speaks again.

"But Finn was right," she says softly, even smiling a little as she turns to walk away.

"About what?"

Santana stops briefly and looks over her shoulder. "For being proud of you."

* * *

"You know," Santana says as she sips lazily at her drink. "I think you should totally thank me."

"Really?" Rachel takes a slow bite from her sandwich. "And why exactly is that?"

She doesn't say anything immediately, but a smirk forms on her face. They've been sitting together at lunch ever since they'd won Regionals. "I totally gave you and Finn the best parts of that song."

Rachel frowns in confusion. She thinks maybe Santana's brownies might contain some extra ingredients today.

"Really Ber—Rachel? Who do you think wrote the parts about 'screaming my name' and 'push me up against the locker'?" She raises a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow and laughs hard enough to almost fall off her sat at the look on Rachel's face. It's priceless.

"You—I—Finn—_I_ didn't, um…really, Santana?" she whispers. "That's so crude!"

"You totally know you wish both those lines were the truth."

"I'll have you know, I'm a perfectly respectable person, thank you, and I've even joined the celibacy club." She harrumphs and goes back to eating her lunch.

"Please," her sort-of friend (?) counters. "Once you open up those toned legs of yours, you'll be a total freak. I can sense these things."

Rachel's mouth drops open and Santana just laughs again.

* * *

"Do they even make shoes that aren't moccasins for midgets like you?"

Rachel opens her mouth, then closes it again, still unsure how to respond.

"Relax, it's a serious question," Santana tells her, digging through Rachel's closet.

"How?"

"Because we're going to get you looking sexed up, Ye—um, Rachel."

She frowns. "Why?" she asks.

"Because I saw one Finn Hudson checking you out today, despite what the moron thinks he doesn't feel about you."

Rachel's heart starts beating a little faster and she knows this isn't how it's supposed to be. "N-no. Finn likes the way I dress. And –and he's with Quinn, isn't he? I can't go on a date with him!"

Santana snorts. "You're not. You're going on a date with this guy I know from the Pick N Save. You'll look _smokin' _and totally make Finn jealous. Trust me, I've been acing this technique since before I learned how to walk."

"No," Rachel protests firmly. "If I want things between me and Finn to work out, I need to do it right. And this isn't right." Though she can't deny that a part of her wouldn't love to make him jealous.

The other girl sighs, resigned. "Fine, we can just watch that stupid musical for the eighteenth time. You're so boring, Berry, you know that?"

"I like to think of it as dependable," she counters, grinning when Santana just rolls her eyes.

"Whatever. Those pajamas still make you look like a toddler."

"Well, perhaps. But you still bought them for me."

Santana , for once, doesn't have anything to say to that. Rachel smirks triumphantly.

* * *

"Are you _drunk_?"

Rachel giggles, reaching for Santana's hair.

And that's a yes, the former Cheerio thinks to herself. "What happened to you never drinking again?" she asks wryly.

"Finn."

"_What?_ Don't make me beat that idiot's ass." Santana frowns. Sure, Rachel is kind of annoying, but they're sort of friends or whatever and she doesn't deserve to be jerked around.

"It's really a nice one, too, don't you think?" Rachel laughs again.

"Are you telling me you like Finn's ass?" She snorts.

"Very much. He let me touch it, you know." Rachel stumbles a little and Santana catches her arm. But before she can ask what hell Rachel had been doing tonight, she says, "He was drunk, though. But I think we're making progress, regardless."

Santana doesn't say that Finn probably doesn't or wouldn't remember what happened. Even though he's not with Quinn anymore, he hasn't exactly encouraged Rachel either. She decides that if he really wants Rachel, then fine, she won't stand in the way.

But if he's leading Rachel on again, Santana will castrate him. "Yeah," she agrees half-heartedly. "I hope so."

* * *

"You love her, don't you?" Rachel asks softly.

"Go away, Yentl," Santana snaps back.

"You know you can be honest with me."

Santana doesn't say anything for a while. "I'll go make some tea," the shorter girl murmurs.

"We're not fucking British, Rachel. I don't need fucking _tea_," she grumbles as Rachel hands her a mug. "Why are you even here?"

"You just seemed sad today," she admits. "And I saw you staring at Brittany the way I—well, I _know_ that look, Santana. And if you ever need—"

"I know. Thanks," she adds after a moment. And then, "Yeah. I do."

Rachel doesn't need to ask what she's talking about. She just strokes Santana's hair as the Latina cries on her shoulder.

* * *

"Santana?" Rachel asks softly.

"Yeah?"

"Why did you sleep with Finn?"

Santana sits up, her eyes guarded. "Seriously, Berry? You're pulling this shit _now?_" After they're like, friends, or whatever.

"No, I'm not mad anymore," Rachel insists. "Finn and I have gotten past all of that. Now I'm simply…curious."

Santana shrugs, leaning back against the bed post once more. "It was an image thing. He was the top dog around this joint—guess he is again now—and I dunno. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Shoulda known he would lousy in the sack, though," she adds under her breath, grinning at the way Rachel's face turns all flushed.

"Okay," she says simply.

"Okay? Seriously? You talk for three hours about Barbra Streisand's _nose_ and all you have to say is 'okay'? What's wrong with you?" She frowns at the shorter girl, her eyes roaming expectantly.

Rachel smiles a little. "I forgave you both a long time ago. And even though you won't admit it, I know you didn't do it to hurt me just because you hated me back then." She whispers, "I know what it's like to have insecurities."

"Yeah well," Santana says. "Just yeah." She doesn't know how or why Rachel is so understanding, but she's grateful for it, even if the words to tell her that won't come out easily.

So she just closes her eyes momentarily and lets Rachel pick out some stupid musical that's the same as all the other stupid musicals they watch.

She really needs to take Rachel to a club or something.

* * *

Santana watches the way Rachel walks into her house. "Holy shit!"

Rachel turns around as they enter the kitchen, her eyes wide. "What is it?"

"You totally fucked him, didn't you?"

"Santana!" Rachel scolds, scandalized, but she can't hide the blush that stains her cheeks.

"Haaaaaaaaaaah!" The Latina fist pumps the air. "You and Finn totally played squeeze and squish all night. I can't believe it!"

"Not _all_ night!" The shorter girl claps a hand over her mouth immediately. Santana laughs manically. "It's not _funny._"

"It's fucking hilarious! You can't even walk straight!"

Rachel's face goes even redder.

"I'm guessing that means the oaf's gotten better since _I _played that game with him—sorry," she adds.

Rachel shrugs—they've talked about this. It doesn't bother her like it used to and frankly, her evening _had_ been lovely.

"It was amazing," she whispers.

Santana snorts because she still can't believe Finn's manned up enough to leave Rachel Berry walking crooked after just one night. But it's about time, she supposes—they've been back together for almost six months now.

And her eyes go wide when Rachel tells her just _how much_ Finn has improved since her day.

* * *

"We'z finally getsin' outta this shithole, baby Berry!" Santana knocks down another cup of whatever she's drinking and takes a seat on Rachel's lap.

As it is, Rachel finds herself used to it and doesn't bother to ask Santana to move. She grins. "I can't believe our high school career is officially over!"

"It's about damn time," she mutters. Resting a hand on Rachel's shoulder, Santana calls out to everyone at her graduation party, "Hey! Drunkies and losers! My friend Rachel Berry here is gonna sing y'all a song. Know why? 'Cause she's gon' be a staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar! On _Broadway._" Santana starts crying a little and Rachel looks up at her, startled.

"S-Santana? What's going on?"

"Come on," she says, pulling Rachel up. "You want a last chance at kicking these scumbags' asses to the curb? Then makes it happen, my little dwarfy friend. After this, you enter the reeeeeaaaaaall world!" She throws her hands up, and her voice is still shaky from her hysterics.

"I don't…are you sure?" But people are cheering for her. Well, some are, anyway.

"Totally." Santana claps Rachel on the shoulder and hands her a cup to use as a pretend microphone. "Just for fuck's sake, _don't_ sing that Vitamin C song."

* * *

"I don't know if this a good idea," Rachel says nervously.

"Please." Santana applies a little more lip gloss as they move up in line. "All these fine men here will be checking you out hardcore, trust me."

Rachel frowns a little, a crease appearing in her brow. "I'm with _Finn,_ Santana. You know that!"

"Relax, my tiny friend. I'm not telling you to cheat on the guy." She aims a smoldering look at the bouncer, and then turns back to Rachel. "I'm just sayin' you should show all these deadbeats what they've been missing these last couple years before you high-tail it to New York."

"I suppose it _would_ be nice to prove to everyone I'm not a nobody," she muses quietly.

"That's the spirit! We might as well make the best of our last summer before—" she forms air quotes—"'The Real World.' And I made a promise to myself to take you to a club, so let's go."

Rachel doesn't want to think about how Santana managed to get her into this club—seeing as she's still seventeen. But as the night progresses, she finds herself not caring too much.

Because people _do_ notice her and it feels good. And it feels even better when she gets to tell them she's unavailable.

* * *

"Shit," Santana curses, wiping at her eyes. "I'm actually gonna miss your ass, Berry."

Rachel smiles and engulfs her friend in a hug as she takes a last look around Lima for now. She won't miss it, but she'll miss the people. "I'll miss you too," she whispers. "I'll be back for Thanksgiving."

Santana snorts and turns to Finn. "Take care of her, you nitwit, or I will kick your ass."

Rachel watches as Finn swallows audibly and says that he will, of course. "Santana!" Rachel chastises. "Stop that. And I can take care of myself just fine, thank you."

She watches as a slow smirk forms on the Latina's face. "Whatever you say. Now get out of here before I cry again. I has a rep to maintain you know."

"You're not _really_ from the ghetto," Rachel tells her, laughing a little as she takes Finn's hand.

"Says the girl who grew up in a house where her dads have a room in the basement for each major award show event."

She grins and gives Santana another quick hug, as well as her other friends and family, before she boards the train to New York.

She'd made an unlikely friend in Santana Lopez, but also one of the greatest.

Even if she knows Finn is still scared of her.

* * *

_so? what do you think? I'll probably write more of this at some point, uh, if you want that is. Let me know :)_

_Reviews = love. _


	2. II

**A/N: **_aw thanks for all your reviews and stuff for this story. I hope you like this set of drabbles too. they're not in time order though. :)_

disclaimer: don't own Glee 

* * *

"So what's your plan for Nationals?" Santana asks, snapping her gum.

Rachel (just barely) resists the urge to tell the other girl how annoying that is. "What's it to you?"

"Seriously? Let's see, it's our first time going to Nationals and I wants ta like, I dunno, _win._I thought you were supposed to be smart?"

Rachel frowns, scribbling something in her notebook. Today must be Santana's assigned day to harass her. Well, that's just fine.

"Maybe _you_should contribute an idea for once," she huffs. "That doesn't involve 'drilling' someone or insulting someone." She goes back to writing in her notebook.

The Latina barks out a surprised laugh. "Let me guess, now you're going to tell me I should be working on a pole." She yawns lazily. "Been there, done that."

"Oh, just shut _up!_" Rachel snaps.

Santana laughs again. "Gotsta say, Berry. I kinda like it when you have backbone."

* * *

"I've never been invited to one of your parties before!" Rachel says excitedly.

Santana looks down at her. "Duh. That's 'cause I never _liked_you before."

That immediately wipes the smile of Rachel's face and Santana sighs, unable to admit that it kinda makes her feel bad. "Look," she adds. "Just show up and be cool. If you don't wanna drink, whatever. Just don't piss on other peoples' fun, got it?"

Rachel nods. "Okay, but you really need a better outfit," Santana tells her. "Your fetish for five year olds' clothes is fine for school or whatever, but wear something hot. I know you can do it, 'cause you wore that Britney Spears outfit and I though Finn's eyes were gonna bulge out of his stupid head." She snickers.

"Finn's not stupid!" Rachel crosses her arms over her chest.

"Just shut up before I change my mind about you coming, okay? Okay." She strides off to her locker, leaving Rachel staring after her.

She just hopes the shorter girl can handle it.

* * *

Rachel smiles and picks up her phone when she sees Santana's name on her caller ID. "Why, hello, Santana! How are you?"

"I really hope you're having fun in college, Berry. 'Cause I don't know if you know this, but Ohio sucks _ass._"

"What happened?" she asks quietly.

Santana's voice hitches and it worries Rachel. "Life. Life happened, Rachel."

"Tell me what's wrong," she pleads.

"They're not gonna break up," the Latina tells her. "I don't know how they're so happy together, especially because she's _told_ me she _loves_ me. But she's still with a stupid _boy._ It's _bullshit._"

"Santana." Rachel hears her friend crying through the phone and feels her heart clench. She knows a little how Santana feels and she wouldn't wish it on anyone, or almost anyone, anyway. But certainly not on Santana. Not now.

"This is all _your_ fault," she insists. "You, _you,_ made me all emotional and made me _like_ you and learn to tolerate people. I could have just kept on being a bitch to everyone and none of this shit would matter to me! You _suck._"

Rachel feels her own tears hit her cheeks, hurting for her best friend. "I know this is hard for you, San, but I love you."

Santana's quiet for a long time and Rachel just sits in silence on the phone with her.

Finally, she whispers, "I love you too."

* * *

Rachel looks at the bottle Santana hands her dubiously. "Driiiink up!" Santana slurs. "It's New Years. You can't even deny you and Finn aren't gonna get drunk and knock boots all night."

"That's the plan," Rachel says primly, smoothing her skirt. She's used to Santana's crude way of speaking by now, and refuses to let it faze her.

"Thennnnnn whyyyyyyyy aren't you drinking?"

"Because I don't want to pass out drinking mystery…_whatever_this is!" She holds the bottle up again.

"Fuck, we all drank your nasty cough syrup shit that one year. Just trust me. Hey, Finn!" Santana calls.

He scrambles over and Rachel can't help but notice he's already on his way to being, what did he call it? _Plastered._

"Get your girl drunk, Hudson. Loosen her up some. It's our first New Years post-high school. Gotta make it count."

He nods weakly and sends Rachel a worried glance. "I don't know why you're so afraid of her," she whispers, then turns to Santana. "And how come you're not making the most of it, then? Aren't there any hot girls here you're interested in?"

Santana just smirks. "I've already made the most of it three times so far tonight. You're gonna be eating my dust."

Rachel harrumphs and pulls Finn away by the hand, leaving the ex-cheerleader grinning triumphantly as she takes another swig.

* * *

"This tastes like cardboard."

Rachel sighs and looks over her shoulder as she takes the tofurkey out of the oven. "You haven't even tried it yet!"

Santana blows on her nails, leaning against the counter as she watches Finn fumble his way through mashing the potatoes. "You do know the point of Thanksgiving is, like, turkey or something, right? Not cardboard."

"It doesn't taste like cardboard!"

"I'm with Santana on this one, babe," she hears Finn say. She glowers at him and he looks back down at the potato masher.

"Actually, _Santana,_" Rachel insists, "Thanksgiving is about, oh I don't know, _giving thanks._ And I think _you_should be thankful Finn and I are cooking for you this year instead of ordering you a pizza and sending you home like we did last year."

"Yeah, so Finn could get to third base for the first time." Santana smirks as she sees Finn grin to himself and as Rachel's face goes red. That seems to happen a lot.

"The principle still applies," she huffs and carves her turkey substitute.

Santana shrugs. Whatever. She'll just feed it to the Berrys' neighbors' dog.

* * *

"How did you two even become friends anyway?" Finn asks before shoveling mashed potatoes in his mouth.

"Well—" Santana starts.

Afraid of the _thousands_of things Santana could answer this with, Rachel interrupts. "We just buried a bone," Rachel says pleasantly.

"We…what?" Santana's face looks like Finn's.

"We put our differences aside, forgetting them, and moved forward," she explains as she helps herself to another slice of tofurkey (which _doesn't_taste like cardboard, thank you very much).

"Um," the other girl snorts. "That expression is buried the _hatchet_, Berry. Not a bone." She laughs again and pours a generous amount of gravy over her processed lump of sawdust.

"Well, traditionally, yes," Rachel concedes. "But you and I are _hardly_ traditional. Besides—" She pulls a face. "—Hatchets are so…_violent._It's much more diplomatic this way."

"What the fuck ever, Rachel," Santana laughs again, glancing over at Finn, who hasn't said anything. "That's pretty much the answer, even if your crazy girlfriend has to be all politically correct about it and shit."

Rachel smiles widely and looks between her boyfriend and best friend.

"Okay," Santana says after a while, dropping her fork on the table. "There isn't enough gravy in the world to make this not taste like roasted dog shit."

Rachel gawps and glares hard at Finn when he snickers his agreement.

The Latina smirks.

* * *

"Why don't you just buy it in a jar like normal people?" Santana asks as she watches Rachel mash up boiled apples.

"_Because_," Rachel explains with exaggerated patience, "applesauce in a jar will _never_compare to homemade applesauce."

The former Cheerio takes a bite from one of the uncooked apples. "It'll probably just taste the same."

Rachel looks up and glowers. "I'll put this into terms that you can understand. Applesauce in a jar is like getting an intense kiss. _However,_homemade applesauce is like actually achieving orgasm." She goes back to mashing the apples up.

"Why do you always have to talk all proper and stuff? You can say shit like 'getting off',' you know." She takes another bite of her apple.

"I could," Rachel concedes. "But that would be like admitting you're corrupting me. And I would _never_give you the satisfaction of that."

"Suit yourself, Berry," Santana snickers.

"That looks like dog barf," she adds after a moment.

She laughs when Rachel ignores her.

* * *

Rachel leafs through the stack of pamphlets sitting on Santana's desk. "Have you thought about where you want to go to college yet, Santana? Or what you want to study?"

Santana shrugs.

"Applications are due in about a month. This isn't something to take lightly," she insists.

"Whatever." Santana shrugs again. "My dad says I should go to, like, med school or some shit."

The younger girl sighs. She's had a similar conversation with Finn. "Is that what _you_want?"

"I don't _know_what I want, Yentl!" The Latina snaps, raising her hands in frustration.

Rachel smiles at her sadly and Santana apologizes for reverting back to calling her Yentl. "That's okay," she says. "Santana, you still have some time to think, you can always apply as undecided."

"Yeah, I guess so," Santana replies, unsure. "I just don't know where I wanna go. It's easy for you, you're gonna be a star and all that shit. I'm good at cheerleading, sex, and making people feel terrible. I don't think you can major in any of those." She snorts.

"You could always start a brothel," Rachel suggests, smiling a little.

Santana nearly collapses laughing. "Santana's House of Whores. I like it, Berry. You got game."

"Yeah, well, I like to think it's just you having a terrible influence on me."

This time, they both laugh.

* * *

"Santana!" Rachel hisses. "I can't wear this!"

The taller girl yawns lazily and looks at her friend. "You can. And you will, trust me, it's hot."

"But what if Finn doesn't like kinky outfits like this?"

Santana snorts and eyes Rachel appraisingly. If she weren't taken—and if Santana weren't afraid of screwing up their friendship (though she'll deny that in public)—she'd totally do Rachel. Girl looks hot in the tiny scrap of lingerie the Latina had picked out for her.

"Let's see, he's a first year college student, of course he likes kinky things. You think he doesn't jerk off in the shower every day thinking about you in lace and a corset?"

Santana's frank way of speaking often leaves Rachel spluttering, even though she feels like she should be used to it by now. And she does appreciate that the other girl has flown out to see her for the weekend. And it _would_be nice to have something new to take home to Finn, even if she sees him nearly every day.

But does he really—surely he doesn't...actually, knowing Finn, Santana is probably correct. She smirks.

"I'll take it."

"Yeah, no shit, Berry. But I better get the details."

"Well—"

She reconsiders. "All though, you can leave out the part about what Finn's baby batter tastes like this time." She waves a hand dismissively.

Rachel stares in horror because she definitely does _not_remember disclosing that information, and she can tell by the look on Santana's face that she knows Rachel doesn't remember.

She doesn't relish the future blackmail possibilities.

* * *

They're eating ice cream (well, Rachel is eating a vegan's excuse for ice cream, Santana thinks) and watching the Notebook. She'll never admit it to anyone—probably not even Rachel—but she's always had a soft spot for this movie.

Things have just gotten serious between Rachel and Finn again and Santana knows that even though the loud ingénue won't admit it, it worries her. So Santana had set up a "girls night" for them, based on what she's heard Brittany talk about from movies and stuff. And maybe this all isn't her area of expertise, but whatever. Rachel is crying her eyes out over the movie, and she's pretty sure that's a good thing.

She takes another bite of her cookie dough and watches as Rachel grabs another tissue.

When the movie is over, Rachel looks over at her and says quietly, "Thank you."

Santana shrugs. "No problem."

And the thing is, it really _isn't_ a problem. Weird.

* * *

_as always, I appreciate your feedback and thank you so much for your support. reviews = love_


	3. III

**A/N: **_hi everyone. thanks so much for your reviews and encouragement on this story. please do keep it up :)_

_disclaimer: yeah i still don't own Glee._

* * *

_Dear Santana,_

_I love you immensely. I know I generally would call or text or Skype you, but I wanted you to have something tangible. Kurt told me what happened with Brittany and Artie. I'm sorry for them and I hope they can be friends. But I do hope you get your chance with her._

_I know how much you love her because I know how love feels and what it looks like. The same things that are between me and Finn are the things I see you feel for Brittany. And I know she loves you too. Once you let people in Santana, you're one of the most caring people in the world, even if you try not to show it._

_I also know it hurts sometimes—love, life, etc. But it'll be worth it because she'll see, San, that_

you_ are worth it. I have to go now because I have class soon, but please bear these things in mind. And know if you ever need me, I'm here.  
_

_Sincerely,  
Rachel Barbra Berry._

Santana's eyes water as she reads the letter for probably the fortieth time. But then she even has a laugh a little 'cause Berry is still putting gold stars next to her name.

She picks up a pen to write her friend back.

* * *

"Um, Santana?"

Santana looks over at Rachel, who is sitting on her bed, from her chair at the desk.

"What is this?" She holds up a small doll vaguely resembling her, frowning.

And she's not sure how she feels when Santana sniggers and gets up to snatch the doll from her. "I made it after you made us lose Nationals. If you ever woke up in the middle of the night with sharp pains in your lower back, that was because of me."

Rachel's mouth falls open as she stares at the Latina. Santana shrugs. "I was pretty pissed, okay? _Obviously_it didn't actually work."

Rachel frowns when she realizes the extent to which what happened between her and Finn at Nationals (though she refuses to believe their loss is based solely on that) affected everyone else, but then tilts her head when a new thought comes to mind. "Um, why do you still have it?"

Santana doesn't have an answer for that.

* * *

It's after two in the morning when Rachel's woken up by a phone call. She panics instantly. Has something happened to Finn? Her dads? Has—"Hello?" she answers groggily.

"Rachel Berry!" Rachel blinks, frowning in confusion.

"San?" she asks. "Are you okay? What happened? Is someone in the hospital? Why—"

"Jesus," Santana mutters. "No, shut the hell up." She does. "Anyway," Santana goes on. "I finished my crappy two years at community college and I'm ready for bigger and brighter things." There's a pause. "I got into school in New York."

And Rachel can't help the squeal that escapes her mouth, much to her roommate's annoyance. "Oh, Santana! That's so wonderful! I didn't know you wanted to go to school in the city! And Finn and I are going to get an apartment next year; you can live with us! Oh this is so _exciting!_"

"Uh, hold up there, Rainbow Brite. I am _not_moving in so I can hear you and Finn bumping and grinding all the time. I likes me some wanky, you know that. But that's so not happening."

Rachel huffs. Why does everyone seem to think she and Finn do nothing but have sexual relations all the time? "We'll discuss this matter further when I come home in two months," she says primly, definitively.

When her roommate tells her to shut the fuck up, Rachel finally tells Santana she has to go.

Except now she's too excited to go back to sleep.

* * *

Rachel fidgets with the hem of her sleeve nervously before clearing her throat.

Santana glances over at her. They're at the food court in the mall and Rachel figures there's enough noise around her to drown out the conversation they're about to have.

"What is up with you?" Santana asks, trying to mask the concern in her voice.

Rachel leans forward, careful not to get any of her vegetable lo mein on her sweater. "It's just that I could _really_use your expertise…"

The Latina arches an eyebrow curiously, but doesn't say anything.

"It's just that…my relationship with Finn, the _physical_relationship, I mean, is progressing and well, you know more about it than I do…"

Santana nearly chokes on her diet coke. "Berry, are you asking me for sex tips? With _Finn?_"

"Well—"

The taller girl leans in. "Here's what you need to know. It doesn't matter how you touch that boy, he'll cream his pants in two minutes."

"Santana," Rachel interjects, her tone scolding. "I'm serious."

"So am I."

Rachel frowns and takes a bite of her meal, smiling to herself when Santana blows out a slow breath; she knows she's won.

"Fine. We'll go to Victoria's Secret and you can come over afterward. I think I have one of those squeeze toys filled with water still to show you how to give the perfect handjob."

She says it so nonchalantly, Rachel nearly blanches. But since that's the reaction Santana was most likely looking for, she just smiles graciously and mutters, "Thanks."

* * *

She's not really sure how Rachel talked her into moving into an apartment with both her _and_Finn, but somehow the munchkin had managed it. So that's how she ended up sitting on a counter, watching as they pretend they're not sucking face when they should be checking out the apartment to see if this is the one they really want.

In a way, she gets it. Because if she were in a position to be with the person she loves all the time, she'd probably be the same way. And even though she's always talking about how much she doesn't like Finn, it's not really true, and she knows both of them know that.

Of course, it still doesn't mean she gets hot and bothered by watching them maul each other, but there's not much she can do about it other than interrupt them. And to do that, she would have to acknowledge their existence, their kissing and on-the-way-to-wanky existence.

And that's so not happening.

But when they finally stop, she smiles when Rachel motions over to her so they can explore what could possibly be their home together.

She's pretty sure shit like that is how Rachel managed to persuade her to live with them.

* * *

"Santana," she hears her name whispered. "Santana, wake up."

"Shut up," she groans. Why do people always have to be so loud? But Rachel—_Rachel_? Why the hell is Rachel in her bed?

She sits up immediately, surveying her room, blinking hard against the sunlight. She's wearing only her underwear, as is Rachel. Who is in her bed.

And staring at her.

Something tells her she's got a lot of explaining to do.

Especially when Finn walks in wearing only boxers. His cheeks flush when he sees both girls staring at him and that's when she realizes this _definitely_isn't her bedroom. Or Rachel's.

"Finn!" she screeches. "What the _fuck_ am I doing in _your_ bed with _your_ girlfriend, mostly naked? You _pervert!_"

He's barely able to defend himself from her as she swipes at him repeatedly. "Hey! Stop it, Santana. You're the one jumping to conclusions!"

She thinks she might actually still be drunk, seeing as she just sort of wants to yell and weep, especially when Finn explains what happened. "Rachel called me last night and said you two were too drunk to drive, or even walk, home and asked if I could pick you up. And I knew her dads would be pissed if I brought her home drunk and you were clinging to her, so I just let you stay here. I slept over there." He points to a sleeping bag in the corner.

Her only response to that is to climb back in his bed, hiding her face from the cruel, cruel sunlight. She feels Rachel smooth her hair down and pull the blanket up farther.

She guesses they must have had a pretty bitchin' first night of spring break.

* * *

"You'll be fine," Rachel whispers, hugging Santana tightly.

Brittany is flying into New York to see them (mostly Santana) and she knows Santana is worried about what will happen. It's been a rocky road for the two of them—which is something she can relate to.

She watches as Santana just stares at herself in the mirror, fiddling with the hem of her dress. Rachel doesn't think she's ever seen her friend nervous before. Even before show choir competitions when they were in high school, she was all business.

In a way, it's humbling.

Santana turns to face her and says quietly, "Thanks."

"For what?"

"Just…thanks." Rachel smiles. "But if you tell anyone I got all sentimental," Santana adds. "I will kick your ass."

Rachel only rolls her eyes and gets ready to take Santana to the airport to meet Brittany.

* * *

"I think your dads hate me," Santana laughs.

"No, of course they don't! They just think you're a little…unconventional. And crude," she adds.

Santana laughs again because both of those things are probably true. She's painting her toenails and while she knows Rachel hates when she puts her feet on the desk, it doesn't really stop her. Because she could be painting her nails on the bed and she knows Rachel is aware of that too, which is why she doesn't open her big mouth.

"Well, next time I'll try to remember to teach you how to get yourself off using the washing machine when they aren't home."

Rachel's face turns pink again and Santana thinks maybe her goal should be to talk about this stuff with Rachel without her blushing before they graduate.

Maybe people don't know this about her, or maybe they do, but she's actually pretty determined.

The only problem is that Rachel is just as stubborn.

* * *

It just happens to work out that she and Santana get placed next to each other at Commencement. So she holds on to her friend's hand tightly as Principal Figgins starts announcing the names of the 2012 graduates.

The moment has finally come and Rachel feels about a million things. She doesn't feel scared, though. Not really, anyway. Because she knows no matter what happens, she's managed to form this bond with Santana—the kind that can't be broken easily, if ever.

Santana shoots her one of those semi-rare, not condescending or insulting at all smiles and squeezes her hand.

"We did it," Rachel whispers. She knows they're not supposed to be talking, but really _when_did the Class of 2012 get so many members?

She grins when her friends' names get called and when her own gets called, she turns briefly to smile at Santana before walking up (gracefully, might she add—it is a perfect opportunity to practice for the red carpet, after all) to receive her diploma.

And when Santana returns to her seat too, diploma in hand, Rachel can't stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

The consolation is that Santana has matching ones on her face, even though she knows Santana will try to deny it in the future.

Then again, maybe not. They've both come a long way, both together and individually. And if there's one thing she's learned from her friendship with Santana, it's that people can surprise you.

And most of the time, it's the good kind of surprise.

* * *

_Rachel,_

_I'm not really sure what to say because words and shit are your department. And while sending letters is kinda bougie, I really do appreciate it._

_I also want to say thank you for believing in me, even when you had no reason to. I know I'm pretty much destroying my rep by writing this, but even if you show Finn, he's still going to be afraid of me, and I still know plenty of things I can blackmail you with._

_But in reality, I know you'll be honorable. Because even though sometimes you're annoying and always you're loud, you're not bad. At all, actually. You're really good and I hope you're right._

_If not, then it's up to you to deal with my bitchfits. And because you're you, I know you will._

_Now that I'm all teary-eyed, I think it's time to go. I hope you showed Finn that toy I bought for you for your birthday._

_-Santana_

_P.S. I don't know if I should laugh or cry at the fact that you still put gold stars next to your name. So I think I'm just gonna watch a movie instead.  
_

* * *

_ yes? no? what are your thoughts? thank you so much, you're all lovely_


End file.
